


Messed Up

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: fma_fic_contest, Gen, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  Ed doesn't want to eat his meal.<br/>Disclaimer:  Arakawa owns all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messed Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt of 'pasta' for the community FMA_Fic_Contest.

Ed stared at the plate in front of him. “I don’t want this,” he said, making a face and shoving at the plate. It rocked slightly, then stilled, and Ed’s hand fell next to it, trembling from the effort of trying to move it. 

“You should, Brother, you need your strength!” Al tried to be helpful, he really did, Winry thought, but Ed was just going to be a miserable brat. 

Her hands on her hips, Winry said, “I’m not making you anything else, Ed!” 

“I don’t like spaghetti!” Ed whined, his nose wrinkling up, sticking his tongue out. “It looks like,” and he shuddered, trying to push the plate again. It barely moved.

“But Brother,” Al said, his fingers tapping together. “You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Ed’s stomach growled, making his words a lie, but he folded his arm across his chest, and turned his head. “I don’t want it, Winry! Get it out of here. It’s gross.” 

“It’s not gross, Ed, it’s spaghetti!” Winry picked up the plate, stirring the noodles around in the red sauce, made with fresh tomatoes and green peppers she’d picked herself, and sausage, and a lot of spices, same as always. Ed had always fussed when she’d made it, and she didn’t understand. It was really good, she knew it was. She’d had some herself while she was cooking it, to make sure it was seasoned right. 

“It’s gross, Winry!” Ed shoved at the plate, this time getting enough force behind his fingers to knock it onto the bed. Red sauce splattered the blanket, part of the sheet, and fell onto the floor, the noodles dripping down off the edge of the bed. “Gah! Look what you made me do!” he shouted. 

“I didn’t make you do anything!” Winry yelled back at him, grabbing for the plate and combing the spaghetti off the bedding with her fingers. “Now I’ve got more work,” she muttered, “I’ll have to wash your blanket and your sheets, and mop the floor.” Shaking her head, she squatted down to try and scoop at least some of the sauce and noodles onto the plate. 

“I told you I didn’t want it!” Ed snapped. 

Al sighed. “I’ll get the mop and laundry basket, Winry,” he said, and clanked his way out of the recovery room. 

“Okay, so you didn’t want it, you didn’t have to make a mess! You’re not a little kid, Ed!” Winry grabbed a couple of cleaning rags and started wiping up the spaghetti on the floor. 

“I don’t want it near me!” Ed’s breathless voice caught her attention. 

Glancing up, she could see how pale his face had gone. Winry got to her feet, reaching for him. “Ed, what’s – ew, what’s wrong with your hand?” Her fingers nearly slid off his, he was so damp and cold. “Ed?”

He shuddered, pressing his face against the pillow. “I don’t want the spaghetti, Winry.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll make you a sandwich or something! Geeze. You don’t need to act all crazy.” Winry grabbed another blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Are you going to be okay?”

For once, Ed didn’t say anything, just nodded, and Winry patted his arm before going back to cleaning up the mess. She noticed how he kept his eyes closed until she had everything in a pile, ready to go in the laundry basket when Al brought it into the room. They worked together to get Ed out of the bed so it could be stripped and dressed again, and Ed finally lay quiet, still shivering a little, but not nearly as bad as he had been. 

“Better?” Winry asked. 

Ed nodded, tugging the blanket up further around his chest. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

“You’re welcome.” Winry said it almost the same way Ed had. 

After she’d gotten the laundry started, Winry fried an egg to make a sandwich for Ed. As she returned to the recovery room, she could hear the brothers talking, and hesitated before going inside. 

“…spaghetti, Ed?” Al asked.

“Nng…it’s…it looks weird.”

“You ate it before,” Al pointed out.

“Yeah, but,” Ed sighed. “I can’t explain it, Al! But now it looks like…like…it reminds me of the insides of that…of…Mom. Of what…she looked like. Inside.” 

“Oh,” Al breathed, the sound echoing around the metal of his body. “I’m sorry, Ed.”

“Not your fault,” Ed said gruffly. “Or Winry’s. She didn’t know.” 

Winry bit her lip, imagining what Ed must’ve seen. Beyond saying that she’d buried what she’d found in the Elrics’ basement, Granny didn’t talk about what the boys had made with their alchemy. Winry had studied her parents’ medical books, and knew the clinical terms for all the internal organs, but the idea of seeing them raw and bloody, pulsing and heaving, made her press the back of her hand to her mouth. 

Neither of the brothers said anything for a little bit, and Winry, in control once more, decided she’d waited long enough. Pushing through the door, she said, “Egg sandwich, Ed! Try not to throw it around the room, all right?” She handed it over. 

“Yeah.” Ed managed a grin in return, taking the sandwich. “I’ll try and have some spaghetti next time you make it, okay?”

“Okay!” Nodding at Ed, Winry decided she wouldn’t be making spaghetti again any time soon.


End file.
